The Time Sherlock Decided to be an Arse
by MrRedHat
Summary: Peace and quiet in 221B. Sherlock is out, and John finally has time to relax. Or does he? One shot, Johnlock, rated T for mild sexual themes.


John had the flat to himself.

He sat back in his chair and sipped his tea without worrying if perhaps he'd get blown up today. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes.

The reason for this rare opportunity was that Sherlock had left in a hurry about an hour ago, muttering something unintelligible about Mycroft. John hadn't really paid attention. He could finally relax; he needed it after last night.

They'd wrapped up an investigation of a particularly nasty murder involving arsenic and soup, and he and Sherlock had been up for a good 32 hours prior.

Opening his eyes again, he turned on the telly and switched it to one of his favourite shows. Just as he settled himself in, an all-too familiar voice sounded at the door.

"Boring."

John jerked his head around. Standing in the doorway, complete with charcoal coat and blue scarf, was Sherlock, hands in his pockets and his usual condescending smirk on his face.

"I thought-" John began, confused and slightly disappointed, though a tiny, tiny fraction of himself was glad.

"Also boring, though I do require your assistance."

John sighed wearily and got up from his spot. " What about Mycroft?" At that he received a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, okay. What do you need?"

The consulting detective took one slow, confident step through the doorway. "There will be someone coming to the flat in, oh," he looked at his watch, "a few minutes and I need you to do something for me."

"Is it for a case?" John asked.

"Yes, of sorts. I need the subject to believe that you and I are involved in a homosexual relationship."

What.

"I need you to kiss me."

What.

"Wai-"

Sherlock growled. "No time, John! He'll be here any second!"

"But...I -okay." John gave up.

"Excellent."

The taller man closed the gap between them with three long strides and seized the doctor's face in his hands. Up close, John could see every freckle and fleck in the detective's eyes, including one brown spot above his right iris. Sherlock looked at him reassuringly before pressing his lips softly to his.

John didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't the jolt of electricity that shot through him as so as their lips touched, and it certainly wasn't his own reaction, reaching up and tangling his fingers in Sherlock's inky curls. The detective's mouth moved roughly against his, hands sliding down John's chest, down, down and resting on his hips, pulling him firmly against him. John wondered briefly if this was really for a case however all thoughts were banished when Sherlock started doing /something/ with his tongue on John's bottom lip, eliciting a moan from the latter.

Sherlock was the first to break away, pushing John onto the couch next to his chair and crawling over him.

Sherlock's eyes were dark and beautiful, his pupils dilated and his lips swollen.

It was, decidedly, the sexiest thing John had ever seen.

John eagerly resumed contact, grabbing of Sherlock's shirt and yanking his face down and his body flush against the other man's. John could not think straight as Sherlock traced idle patterns down his side and teasing close to the hem of his jumper.

A sharp knock at the door and a slightly muffled "Sherlock, I /will/ pay you handsomely for this information. Don't make me chase you all over London" made John push Sherlock away fractionally.

Mycroft.

His voice instantly killed the mood, and Sherlock smirked, getting off of John and heading to the door. The younger Holmes unbuttoned his shirt slightly and did the same with his trousers before opening the door.

John caught a glimpse of Mycroft's horrified/disgusted face before Sherlock snapped "We're quite busy, Mycroft" and slammed the door in his face. He turned back to John.

"Thank you, John. I won't be requiring your services any longer."

"What...?"

"I needed something to get Mycroft to stop pestering me. He wants me to take upon a case, similar to the situation with the missile files. I knew he'd follow me to the flat after I left, so now, with your help, he won't be bothering me again. At least not for today." He smiled and sat down on his chair, re-buttoning his shirt and trousers.

"So... You used me to annoy your brother so he wouldn't bother you?"

"Yes, I just said that." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Right."

John was going to kill that man.


End file.
